Eva hurriedly scrubbed her carpet, tears streaming her face. She didn't want the stain to set and ruin her tan carpet. It truly wasn't worth the effort if you took a look around her ratty apartment with the dingy wallpaper that was curling in the corners, the patchwork sofa adorning the tiny living room and the multitude of other stains already set into her carpet, but this particular stain had to go. Her daughter, Molly, would be waking up soon and she didn't feel like explaining to her that sometimes mommies made mistakes; sometimes mommies did bad things. No, she couldn't engineer an adequate response for her inquisitive five-year-old so early in the morning, so she continued to scrub with haste.

A few strands of hair escaped her tightly pulled back ponytail, falling into her face. Oddly enough, that is exactly how her life turned out. She used to be the type of mom that would taxi around children when it was her turn for carpool duties, making snacks for seemingly famished young children, and settling disputes between friends. She lived a sad existence now that she couldn't have imagined just a year prior, but the proof was in her current surroundings. The proof was in this nagging stain.

            Eva sat up on her knees, wiping sweat that beaded up on her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. The stain was more stubborn than she anticipated. Looking straight ahead at nothing in particular she thought back to the cause of it and wept. She was a mess and it was evident in the way she approached life in a disconnected manner. Last night proved she had reached her wits end.

            He came in the middle of the night, much like a stranger coming to steal her meager belongings, but his condescending nature was all too familiar and he had already taken from her so much more than any material possession was worth. Her ex-husband, Paul, came rushing to her apartment under the pretense that Molly was ill around 3 am. She had practiced her speech a million times prior to calling him and asking him to rush over, but when he was in her presence, nothing came out.

"Is Molly okay?" he asked, rushing into her apartment heading in the direction of their daughter's bedroom.

            "She's fine. Sleeping, actually," Eva responded coolly. Paul turned to look at her and his eyes lit up in recognition of what was going on as if a battery were inserted into his back and his brain just started to power up.

           "Eva, you can't keep doing this. We agreed things would be this way long ago. Stop fighting it!"

            "I didn't agree Paul. You tricked me with your fancy words I couldn't understand. And those ridiculous clauses in the prenuptial agreement," she said. Eva thought of the agreement she signed and shook her head. Paul owned a small coffee franchise in their small town and wanted to protect everything he had acquired. So much so that he included clauses which said Eva would be entitled to nothing if she publicly defamed or embarrassed his business. She didn't care about the money. It was their daughter she was concerned with. The agreement also stated that in the event they ever divorced, she'd relinquish full custody to him of whatever children they had and she'd have them for one day a week. She hadn't known that when she stupidly signed, but she was made aware of that during their divorce proceedings. "I was only eighteen!"

            "You were an adult."

            "You can't keep doing this to me Paul."

            "What are you going to do about it Eva? You have nothing."

            "I was afraid you'd say that," Eva said, pulling a small handgun out of the pocket of her tattered, blue robe. She shot him right in the head without blinking. It was as if she had a conjugal relationship with the gun and it did her bidding faithfully, as it dutifully vowed upon their union.

"Mommy," Molly called, jarring Eva from her thoughts, "are you okay? What happened?" Eva smiled at her daughter pulling Molly close to her side, shielding her from the blood stain on the carpet right near her tiny feet, knowing that their exchanges would soon be nothing, but one consecutive lie after another. She hoped her daughter would someday understand and would maintain her jubilant nature.

            "Yes baby. Mommy is okay. I just, uh, spilled some coffee."

I love you were the last words I said to him although he never heard them. I sort of whispered them to his back as he boarded the train away from this town, away from this life, and away from me. I stood on the platform watching the future I dreamed of ride away into the arms of the military and a future I never imagined unfolded right before my eyes. My insides screamed for him to take another look back and realize he was making a mistake as I stood there smiling and waving like an idiot, but he never did. Probably because the mistake was mine and not his, although I’d never admit that to him. I wanted to believe he was leaving on his own accord and maybe, somewhere deep down inside, this was the decision he would have made even if I told him the truth about the way I felt, but I’d never know.

His failure to look back was characteristic of him. Gary was never one for sentimental gestures. I, on the other hand, was often dramatic and forthcoming, but I lost myself on this platform. I swallowed up myself to allow Gary to grow beyond everything we knew and everything we were. It just couldn’t be good enough for him anymore. I wasn’t good enough for him anymore. I could tell long before he first mentioned the possibility of the military being a plausible career path for him. I cannot pinpoint exactly when my love for him overshadowed the lukewarm reception I would get from him in return and I cannot even tell you if his indifference was real or imagined, but either way it was a sentencing for the death of the only thing I wanted more than anything in this world.

Gary and I grew up together and anyone in the small town of Spring Hill, Connecticut would tell you we were destined for one another. I sure believed it and I like to think Gary thought so too, but that’s just wishful thinking. He was always above the simple life we grew up in and I was never quite more than this town. In fact, my mindset may have been even a bit smaller and Gary knew this, although he never said it. This is how I knew when Gary wrote me from basic training asking if I’d marry him, I had to say no. That was the end of September. Here I stood now, after weeks of not speaking, bidding farewell when I wanted nothing more than to say hello again to my love. And he left without so much as a goodbye, giving a quick handshake and a small, awkward smile more fitting for strangers than once-upon-a-time lovers. Then again, maybe we always were strangers after all. If not to each other, we were to ourselves.

Long after his train departed, I stood cemented in the same spot on the platform staring at the space it vacated. It once held everything and now it left nothing. My heart beat violently as I kept staring and hoping his train would reappear and he’d come running toward me, swooping me in his arms, holding tight as if he never wanted to let go; as if he’d never see me again. His scent lingered in my nostrils and caused a smile to dance on my lips that gave way to an involuntary fit of the giggles. To anyone else on that platform I must have looked like a damned fool, but to me it just felt right. The memories flooded my mind as I inhaled him deeper and I could see everything so much clearer now that he wasn’t in my sight. I laughed because I was happy for him and also because I was sad for me. It was the least I could do to keep from crying.

“What’s so funny, Lily?” Little Tommy Sabio asked. He had been watching the trains come and go all day, as customary for him to do on a weekend day, and came running up to me just as I was wiping away the tears of my laughter.

“Nothing really,” I giggled into my hands as if to keep the laugh inside.

“Then why are you laughing?” Tommy placed his hands on his chubby hips and tilted his head to the side as if sizing me up.

“Just because, I suppose”.

“My mom says ‘just because’ isn’t a real answer. Hasn’t your mom ever told you that before?”

Just as suddenly as the laughter began, it stopped. I stared at Tommy and wanted to pluck him in his round, pudgy nose. “I haven’t had a mom since I was fourteen years old, Tommy. If she has told me that before, I must have forgotten.” I tugged at the loose strands of my hair falling from my otherwise normally well-coiffed bun suddenly aware of myself and ashamed of my behavior following this bitter farewell.

“Well, where did she go?”

“Somewhere only the lucky people get to go,” I sat on the bench of the platform staring at my large shadow on the wooden planks.

“Oh, to heaven. I’m so sorry Lily.”

“No, no, no. Not heaven. Away from here. Out of Spring Hill. She moved with her new husband.”

“And she didn’t take you with her? That’s awful!”

“Oh she wanted to,” I said, “but I refused.”

“Why would you do a thing like that?”

“I stayed for Gary.”

It was Tommy’s turn to laugh now and he made a big production of it, slapping his turkey-like thighs and snorting like a fat, little pig. “That’s pretty funny considering now Gary has gone and you’re still here!”

I looked up at him, tears stinging my eyes. I looked once again at the empty train tracks that I had temporarily forgotten about and felt the urge to jump aboard the next train that stopped. I had no idea where I would go, but anywhere had to be better than under the observant eye of Tommy. I stood up and then sat back down, only to stand up again filled with a resolve I hadn’t felt since I decided to stay in Spring Hill many years ago. “When is the next train coming?”

“It’ll be at least another thirty to forty minutes from now. It’s the weekend, you know. They come far apart. Want to know where it’s going?”

“No. I just need to know it’s coming.”

“What are you going to do when it comes Lily?”

“Get on it, of course.”

“But Lily, where will you go?”

“I don’t really know Tommy.”

“Won’t you be afraid? What about your life here?”

“I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve been sheltered by this town Tommy. Not from the outside world, but from myself.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Oh that’s neither here nor there. You may someday.”

“But still, Lily, how can you leave everything behind?”

“Because everything just boarded a train about forty minutes ago and I should have been on that train too.”

Tommy looked at me with questions still written on his face, but he didn’t say anything else. He just slowly walked closer to me, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it. I looked down at him silently thanking him for the small gesture. It was all the affirmation I needed to know that I was doing the right thing. So we stood there, Tommy and me, at the edge of the platform looking down the tracks for the train that would carry me away from this town, away from this life, and away from myself.

Eden nervously drummed her fingers on the kitchen table, nursing an already cold, black cup of coffee in her favorite orange mug. She had a bad feeling about today, but she couldn't place her finger on it. She just knew something wasn't right. "Would you quit that?" Wendell asked, peering from behind his newspaper at his wife.

            "Oh, sorry," she said, flashing him a weak smile, "It's just, I have a bad feeling, Wen."

            Never taking his eyes from the paper, he asked, "What is it Eden?"

            "I don't know. It's just...we've never done anything like this before."

            She pushed the center of the newspaper down with her index finger, commanding his attention. Reluctantly, he folded the paper and placed it on the table beside his untouched breakfast. "Eden, look, I know you're nervous, but honestly, we need the money. There isn't much more to it."

            Eden rolled her eyes. It was just like Wendell to say that they needed the money, but she had to do all the work. That was just how their marriage worked. Wendell was the brains and she was the brawn, so to speak. "But isn't this sort of illegal?"

            "Sort of," Wendell laughed in a questioning tone, "Of course it is and that's why no one can know Eden. Not one soul." He stared into Eden's hazel eyes hoping she understood the seriousness of his statement. Eden nodded, taking another sip of coffee to hide her doubt. Wendell couldn't know that her faith in him was wavering.

            Wendell picked the newspaper back up and continued reading where he left off, while Eden got up from the table abandoning her cold coffee in hopes of finding some other mindless task to focus her energy on. She had to get a hold of her nerves. Women did this every day, but something about her doing it just didn't sit right with her. Something about today made their plans - Wendell's plans - seem more threatening to her sanity than any other day.

            Looking outside the bay window of the living room, she stared out at the perfectly lined homes with their perfectly manicured lawns housing seemingly perfectly happy families. Each decorated with patriotic paraphernalia to celebrate the Fourth of July. Her home appeared as if it was haphazardly placed there by mistake with her overgrown lawn and sad excuses of spider web decorations made from stretched out cheesecloth from Halloween nine months ago. What she wouldn't give to swap lives with one of the other wives on her street. They had normal lives and marriages, and to her normalcy was a valuable asset to be desired.

            "Would you quit worrying," Wendell asked walking into the living room with his car keys in hand, "you're going to do great. Just remember, stroke his ego a little and see if you can get him to pay a little more."

            "Wait, Wen. You won't be staying here with me?" Eden instinctively put a hand on her round, pregnant belly. "You've got to stay here with me."

            "Eden I can't. I've already agreed to barbecue for the Coopers today for a little money. You'll do fine honey. I promise."

           "But it's a holiday. Why can't he come another day?"

            "That's just the way it is. Got to go." Wendell kissed her forehead and turned quickly on his heels before she could get another word in edgewise. From her position near the window, she could see Wendell pulling out the driveway and disappearing down the street. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced herself not to cry.

            Life with Wendell wasn't always this way. At one point in their marriage, maybe even if it was just the beginning part, they were very happy. A change occurred about twenty years ago and she never understood why, but she accepted it because she loved Wendell. She married him when she was only sixteen years old and was certain their life would be the fairytale she had hoped it would be. This part of their marriage must have been the story that happens once the fairytale ends.

            Holding onto her belly, Eden felt the urge to cry again. From the beginning of their marriage, Wendell made it very clear that he did not want to have children and he was still firm on that stance. She always assumed that as they lived their lives together a change of heart would be inevitable, but she was wrong. Wendell never felt that intrinsic desire to father his own children; not even when she announced five months ago that she was pregnant and not even when they found out she was pregnant with a baby boy. He just came up with another scheme to make money off of an undesirable circumstance and somehow convinced her to go along with it.

            Wendell found a single man, who had no plans of marrying, but wanted children and offered to sell their baby to him. Her baby. He couldn't do a simple adoption, and she refused from the beginning to have an abortion. Somehow Wendell was always able to dodge a bullet, even in friendly fire.

            "Don't worry baby," Eden spoke out loud to her unborn child, rubbing her stomach, "no matter what happens, just know your mama loves you. Although it may not seem like it, it's true." She felt horrible, selling off her child like people do to the young of an animal. It was unnatural, but she loved Wendell and she wasn't strong enough to raise a child on her own. Not now anyway.

            She looked at her watch, waiting impatiently for this man to arrive. Wendell didn't tell her much. He just let her know that he was young, single, and successful. He'd be able to afford to give the baby everything Wendell wasn't willing to and everything Eden wasn't able to. It was as if fireworks exploded inside of Eden as the reality of her situation began to sink in. Eden was an unfit mother. At least, that's the way she saw herself after living with Wendell.

            Jarring her out of her thoughts, an expensive looking vehicle she never seen before, looking more like a spaceship than a car, pulled into her driveway. She ran from the window to the mirror in the foyer, wiping any remaining tears from her face. She waited at the door until she heard the doorbell ring and opened it, pasting a fake smile on her face. "I'm so happy you're finally here. I've been dying to meet you. I'm Eden." She extended her hand and shook his. "Please come in." She stared at the man's brown eyes, curly hair, and bronzed skin as if kissed by the sun. He was definitely handsome and eerily familiar.

            "Thanks. I'm John. He told you about me?" the young man asked with a quizzical expression on his face.

            "Of course Wendell did," Eden replied, leading John to the living room and motioning for him to take a seat on the love seat as she sat across from him on the matching beige, leather sofa. "Why wouldn't he? He wouldn’t be able to place our baby in a home without my consent." She laughed playfully.

            "Baby? Why would he give me your baby?"

            "Well, he isn't giving you our baby. He's selling him to you. Why do I feel this is your first time hearing all of this?"

            "I don't know what he told you about me or what you guys have going on here, but he doesn't even know I'm here today. Is he even home?" John asked, looking around the modestly decorated living room.

            "No, he had to step out and what do you mean he doesn't know you're here?"

            "Well, he doesn't. I haven't spoken to him in about a month. I came to make amends."

            "Well if you aren't here to buy our baby, then who are you?" Eden asked confused and slightly embarrassed at how much she revealed to a stranger.

            Looking equally uncomfortable, John shifted his weight and then delivered a blow Eden wasn't prepared for. "I'm his son."

"He left everything to her?" Jonah spat vehemently, pacing the floor. "This must be some kind of mistake. I'm his son." I watched Jonah in his expensive tailored suit and Italian leather shoes. If he kept pacing the way he was, he'd burn a hole in the floor.

            "It says so right here," Jameson, the family lawyer and long-time friend, said. I could hear the uneasiness in his voice. This was difficult news for him to give. He watched Jonah grow up and now he had to tell him that he had nothing coming to him, but the trust fund he was eligible for in one year when he turned eighteen.

            "This has to be a mistake! He wouldn't leave her anything!" Jonah's voice began to waver and my heart ached for him. I wanted to reach out to him and hold him, but it would only upset him more. He didn't want that kind of comfort from me. He stared at me with daggers in his eyes and fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were turning white. "You did this, didn't you?"

            I looked at Jonah with a pained expression on my face. Couldn't he see that his disdain for me hurt me? Couldn't he tell from the moment I laid eyes on him I loved him? It couldn't be that hard to tell, could it? I averted my eyes for a split second, trying to think of something to say to trigger some sort of compassion in him. "No, I didn't. I loved your father very much. I love you too, Jonah."

            "Yeah, that's a likely story. You tell a lot of stories, don't you? Trying to fill my head with lies, the way you did my old man, huh?" Jonah finally sat in the chair adjacent to mine and looked at Jameson, "What am I supposed to do now, man? Where am I to go?" He rubbed his hand over his face and I could see his eyes glistening with tears.

            Clearing his throat, Jameson offered, "You could stay with Veronica. After all, she is your -"

            "No!" Jonah jumped up from his seat again. "Don't you dare say that Jameson!" By this time, real tears escaped Jonah's eyes and every fiber in my being wanted to console him, but I remained quiet and still. "My father is dead and you think she will take care of me?"

            His words hurt me. He referred to me as if I were just some random person off the street trying to take money that belonged to him. I could care less about the money to be honest. The one thing I really wanted, I couldn't buy. "Jonah, please listen to me for a second," I spoke carefully and pointedly, "I know you may never want me as a part of your life, but let me take care of you. It's the least I can do."

            "The least you can do? Really, Veronica? Let me save you the trouble. Don't do anything. You're good at that." He began to pace again.

            I looked at Jameson who was looking at me expectantly. Our relationship was always a rocky one and I could tell whose side he was on. Legally, his hands were tied and he had to follow Parker's wishes as outlined by the will. "Veronica, you need to get a handle on this. Jonah needs someone and that someone should be you."

            Jonah stopped in his tracks and turned to face Jameson. "You have got to be kidding me? Once she gets her hands on my father's money, she'll be off in some tropic somewhere, getting high or something. She doesn't need me holding her down. Isn't that right, Veronica?" Jonah had this weird look on his face that I couldn't quite place. It was like a mixture of malice and delight. It was as if he was pleased he slipped in that comment about me getting high in front of Jameson.

            "Jonah why don't you step outside and let us adults talk amongst ourselves for a while," Jameson suggested. While doing without Jonah's outbursts would be less heartbreaking, it is hardly a reprieve. Jameson wouldn't skirt around the issue at hand with Jonah out of the room.

            "Whatever man," Jonah turned and left the room, mumbling curses under his breath obviously meant for me. My heart felt as if it were breaking into thousands of tiny pieces.

            "Well, I guess we can't avoid the pink walrus in the room any longer," I chuckled nervously.

            "Elephant," Jameson corrected.

            "What?"

            "You mean elephant. The phrase is pink elephant."

            "Oh," I rubbed my hands nervously on my thighs. "Look Jameson, I know you don't particularly care for me, but you have to believe me when I tell you I loved Parker and I most definitely love Jonah. Coming back here was not for money, it was to get my family back."

            "Veronica, I do believe that you loved Parker and you love Jonah, but I'm not the one you have to convince of that. Do you know what that boy has been through these last sixteen years of his life? You know nothing about him except the fact that you do love him and he knows nothing about you except what Parker chose to tell."

            "But he's my son."

            "Biologically, yes. That does not make you his mother though. He longed for you growing up Veronica and where were you? They both needed you. You show up again last year after all that time and think all is forgiven and forgotten. It does not work that way."

            "With all due respect Jameson, there is a lot about me you don't know and Parker forgave me. I can never give those sixteen years back to Jonah. Never! If it is all right with you, I am going to take my son to the beach house and try to talk to him. Maybe I can get through to him."

            Jameson threw his hands up in the air. "Veronica, you're a real piece of work. That boy is fragile and so are you. When things get tough again and you're ready to run, what is going to become of Jonah?"

            "There is nowhere to run this time." I stood up smoothing wrinkles from my creme colored skirt and turned quickly to avoid more conversation. Once out the door, I motioned to Jonah to come on. I could hear him suck his teeth, but he really had no choice so he reluctantly followed me, sulking.

***

            I sat in the beach chair smoking a cigarette watching the waves rush toward the shore. There was something calming about the sea that made the beach house my favorite place to be. It was as if maybe the sea could wash over me and cleanse me of my past transgressions. The ride home from Jameson's office was awkward. Jonah refused to talk to me and I really didn't know what to say to him. Truth be told, I had no idea how to be a mother.

            Running is what I did best. When things get tough, I run. When I was younger, I ran from home at fifteen because my mother was an abusive drunk. I turned to the streets for the love I didn't get at home and let drugs become my lullaby at night. When I met Parker, he cleaned me up and made me his wife. Things were okay for a while. We'd spend many nights on this very beach, watching the stars and listening to the waves. He used to tell me stories of how the sea was made from the tears of God. All those tears were for all the suffering His people went through. Swimming in the ocean was a way to become clean from all the wrong we've done and come close to God. He assured me if I went in the water, I'd be cleansed forever of the stigma that followed me because of my drug use.

            I never did though. While the sea called me, I ignored its calls. Parker would fuss at me, saying that I wanted to hold on to a piece of an old life I needed to leave behind. When we had Jonah, I had enough. There was something inside me that knew both Parker and Jonah needed something more than what I was capable of being or giving. My soul was unclean. So I ran. I didn't think about consequences then. Life was tough out there for me. Sleeping in parks, eating out of garbage cans, sharing needles. That's the kind of life I left this paradise for.

            "Veronica," Jonah began, standing over me, "the telephone is for you. It's the doctor's office."

            "Thank you. Tell them I'll call them on my cell phone." I didn't want to talk to them in the house when Jonah would be in ear shot nor did I want to risk the chance that he'd listen on another extension.

            "Yeah okay. Um, Veronica, can I ask you something?"

            "Yes dear. You may ask me anything."

            "Is there something wrong with you? You've been staring at the ocean forever."

            "Not in the least. Don't you worry. I'm just thinking of cleansing my soul."

            "Oh I'm not worried. I was just wondering in case you wanted to do me a favor and go drown or something."

            "Have you ever been afraid of anything Jonah?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well, I'm afraid that one day I'm going to wither away and die and people will just go on and live as if I never existed. Everyone will just forget me."

            "I think you caused that yourself Veronica."

            I sat quietly and pondered over his cruel words. Maybe I deserved them, but I'd never know. He left me sitting here to lick my wounds without any thought to how I might feel. Maybe this was his way of showing me what it felt like to be abandoned. I couldn't ponder on it too long because I had to call the doctor's office back.

            Punching in the numbers on my cell phone, I felt a chill run down my spine. This would be one of the single most important phone calls I'd make in my life to date. "Yes hi. This is Veronica Davis calling back."

            "Oh hi Mrs. Davis. Dr. Shaw wanted you to know your test results are in. When would you like to come in to discuss them?" the receptionist responded. Her cheerful tone almost seemed unfitting for the particular conversation we were having but I ignored it.

            "I don't want to come in. I want them over the phone, now."

            "Oh, um, Dr. Shaw normally doesn't do that, but I can see. Please hold."

            I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair, with my cigarette still in hand. The anticipation made the wait seem longer than it actually was, but hopefully the results of this test would lift a tremendous weight off of my shoulders. I needed to know.

             "Hello, Dr. Shaw here," I heard the doctor's baritone voice sound over the phone. "Are you sure you want your results over the phone?"

            "It'll save me some gas and I'm just anxious to know. So yes I do. Give it to me straight please."

            "Well, first I just want to let you know that I'll do everything in my power to -"

            "Dr. Shaw, please. Positive or negative?"

            The doctor let out a long sigh before saying, "Positive, I'm afraid, Mrs. Davis. Believe me though, it's no longer a death sentence."

            "I'm HIV positive." I couldn't think of anything, but all the time I spent away from my son. The years I couldn't give back to him and all the time I wasted running. "Thank you, doctor."

            "But Mrs. Davis, please come in so we can discuss what to do next. It's imperative that we start treatment as soon as possible."

            "Not right now. What I really need to do is cleanse my soul." I hung up the phone before he could get in a word edgewise and dialed Jameson's number.

            When Jameson answered, I said quickly, "I need you to draw me up a will and leave everything to Jonah." I hung up just as quickly. Standing up and putting out my cigarette, I dropped my phone beside me in the sand and started running towards the ocean. I picked up speed as I got closer until my feet grazed the wet sand and rushing waves. I went deeper and deeper into the ocean until the water reached my belly button. Then I stood there, staring out into the seemingly endless sea and did something I haven't done in a very long time. I cried. I cried for Jonah. I cried for Parker. I cried for myself. I allowed my salty tears to fall off my face into the ocean, ridding my soul of the poisonous thoughts and feelings I kept bottled inside, allowing my soul to be cleansed. For my late husband, for my son, and for me.

There is nothing more uncomfortable than driving down a deserted stretch of highway with a full bladder. Guys have it easy. They can pull over anywhere, discreetly pull it out and go. Women, on the other hand, have a production of untying, zipping, pulling and who knows what else. Not to mention we have to worry about some freak jumping out of the bushes, but I couldn't hold it anymore. In hindsight, I should have just peed my pants and kept going, but how could I know that he’d come my way when I hadn’t seen anyone or anything for the last fifteen miles?

He stopped just about a yard from my opened car door as I crouched next to it holding onto the door through the opened window to keep steady as I relieved myself. “Having car trouble?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to what was actually going on.

“Um, no.” My face reddened and I hoped he didn’t notice the puddle of urine forming at my feet.

Upon realizing that I was peeing on the side of the road and not having car trouble, he respectfully turned so his back was to me and he continued talking. “My car broke down about two miles back. I was hoping to find some sort of service station on this road, but it seems nothing is within close walking distance.”

I wiped myself with napkins from my glove compartment, stood up and fastened my jeans quickly. “There isn’t anything on this road for miles,” I said to his back. Although he was wearing a dress shirt, I could tell his back was muscular. I knew where this conversation was going. He wanted a ride somewhere. I briefly thought of all the stories about people who ended up dead picking up hitchhikers on this stretch of road growing up as a young girl, but the hopeless romantic in me thought this could be the start of some sort of happily-ever-after love story so I took the bait. “Where are you headed exactly?”

I closed my car door and he turned around. “I’m headed to Carlisle. It’s at least another hundred miles from here.” He tugged at the corner of his shirt that was carelessly hanging out of his slacks and I noticed his hands looked rough and there was dirt caked under his fingernails which seemed out of place for a man dressed in business attire.

“I guess you’re in luck. So am I. You can ride with me.”

“I just need a ride to a service station. You don’t have to take me that far.”

“Well, most of this area is deserted so the closest working service station would be in Carlisle. Guess you’re stuck with me,” I laughed and extended my hand, “I’m Blanche Tonto.”

“Russell Schwindler.” His hand felt like sandpaper in mine, yet there was gentleness in his touch that was welcoming.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Schwindler. Hop in. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

“You may call me Russ. Thanks. I’ll definitely fill your tank up once we get to Carlisle.”

I suddenly felt nervous as I got back into my car to travel with a stranger I met on the side of the road. I nestled into my seat while fastening my seatbelt as Russ did the same on the passenger side. I studied him out of the corner of my eye while pulling out onto the road. He had this quiet confidence about him as if his disheveled appearance was deliberate rather than a result of a two mile trek along the road. His jawline was beautifully structured in a masculine way and covered in facial hair that seemed to not have been shaved in at least a week or two. His hair was cropped short and a dusty blonde color that perfectly matched his deep-set green eyes. “So are you from Carlisle? Only people from Carlisle travel this road. Everyone else uses main highways.”

“Not exactly.” His response was short, indicating he didn’t care to elaborate, but that just made me want to know more. Who was this ruggedly handsome man sitting just inches to my right? He looked out the window as we whizzed by trees and shrubbery, but it seemed as if he wasn’t looking at them, but through them. It was as if there was something heavy on his mind and I wanted to get inside his head.

“Not exactly? What does that mean?” I took a quick glance to my right to see his reaction to my question, but he seemed not to be bothered. His demeanor was calm so I didn’t feel too bad about prying further.

“I’m originally from Redford. I lived in Carlisle for five years before leaving a few months ago…” His voice trailed off as if there was more he could have said, but he got caught up in some painful memory that caused him to stop speaking. The distance in his eyes returned and I could tell there was more to his words than what appeared on the surface. The more I wondered about him, the more I felt myself drawing closer to him as if I knew him my whole life.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” I put my right hand on his forearm and squeezed. The exchange was rather inappropriate for strangers, but I felt he needed it and in a strange way, I did too. Unexpectedly, he put his hand on mine and squeezed as if to say thank you. His touch was electric and caused a smile to form on my lips. There was an undeniable chemistry between us; at least, it was undeniable to me.

After a few moments of silence, he continued, “I loved her.” I instinctively retracted my hand and placed it back on the steering wheel. A wave of jealousy flashed through my body, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I think I loved her more than she ever loved me and that was my mistake. I moved my whole life to Carlisle just to be with her. We were happy. Well, I was happy and she pretended to be.” He clenched his fists and it was like I could see the anger surging through his fingers which didn’t match the despair on his face.

“What brings you back to Carlisle?” It was the only question I could think of. The only thing I could say without my feelings becoming so transparent that he’d regret ever saying a word to me.

“To be honest,” he began rubbing the back of his neck, “I shouldn’t even be headed to Carlisle, but I heard that she gave birth to the baby and I had to be there. I have to see her.”

“You had a baby? Congrats!” My enthusiasm at the revelation was borderline sarcastic and I was hoping he didn’t pick up on it. The little pieces of his life he was sharing with me made me desire him even though his heart belonged to another. The idea of his unavailability made him all the more desirable.

“Not exactly. The baby isn’t mine. Well, she says it isn’t, but I don’t believe her. I won’t believe her until I see that baby.” His voice wavered as if he were on the verge of tears, but from what I could see out of the corner of my eye, his face was eerily stone-like. He looked straight ahead at the stretch of road in front of us which seemed to go on forever into nothingness. “Love is funny; sometimes a cruel joke even. You go through life looking for someone you can grow as a person with; a person who can look at your flaws and quirks and still see beauty. Someone who is understanding, open, honest, and secure in who they are. That one person who you can look at each day and marvel at who they are and who they have yet to become. I used to think that she changed. That she was different than the woman I had fallen in love with, but she hadn’t. I just woke up from the ignorant slumber I blissfully rested in and saw her for the first time in the entire stretch of time that I knew her.”

I could feel in my gut that he was on his wit's end. He was a broken man and I wanted nothing more than to fix him. It was a weird mix of feelings swirling inside me that I hadn’t felt for anyone ever and here was this stranger making me push good judgment to the side for what may be nothing more than a cheap thrill. I felt I owed him something. Some sort of consolation to let him know that he’d be okay. “In life you’ll meet people who say one thing and mean another. You’ll meet those who are full of themselves and do nothing, but crush others. However, in the midst of all those low quality personalities, there are the few that’ll come into your life that make you believe your ‘one’ is out there going through the same crazy search you are.”

It was the most I said the entire car ride and it seemed to be the first time he actually noticed me. “You’re beautiful.”

I blushed at his words. So simple a statement, but it meant so much to me. “Thanks.”

“What’s in Carlisle for you?”

The question took me by surprise. We spent the entire car ride talking about Russ and where he was going that my own plans were forgotten and pushed off to the side. I suddenly felt exposed and naked as if telling him my reasoning for going to Carlisle will reveal my innermost thoughts. “I used to live in Carlisle as a little girl. My grandmother passed away recently and left me her house.”

“Sorry for your loss Blanche.”

“Thanks. I didn’t know her well. Now that I think about it, that’s sort of sad because we lived in the same town. She was like a stranger, though.”

“That can happen sometimes, you know,” Russ said leaning back in his seat, “The people who should be the closest to us are the furthest away.”

I felt bad all of a sudden. I didn’t even have the decency to go back to Carlisle for the funeral and here I was, headed back now, to claim a house I barely visited when I used to live just across town. I felt as if Russ could see my thoughts and he was judging me for my past transgressions. “I’m not a bad person, you know. Life just happens so fast sometimes that you don’t realize it’s moving so rapidly until it stops.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person Blanche. We sometimes lose sight of what’s important when we’re focused on other things. We can get tunnel vision. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re human.” I appreciated his words, but I still felt horrible. I was embarrassed. “So are you moving back to Carlisle or are you going to see what you’ll be doing about the house?”

I pondered over his question unsure of how to answer. Originally, I had no intentions of keeping the house, but now it seemed like something I must do. “I’m not exactly certain if I’m moving back just yet, but I will be keeping the house. Do you know what you will do if the baby is yours?”

“I’ll be moving back to Carlisle. No doubt about that.” That was the answer I thought he’d give and I found myself secretly hoping the baby was his. “We’re not that far from Carlisle now. It’s just another forty miles or so.”

My heart sank when I realized how close we were and that the ride would come to an end. While I hoped we would see each other again, I didn’t want to fool myself into believing this was more than just a car ride shared between strangers. Once we reached our destination, though, something in me knew we’d part ways and remain just that, strangers. “I bet you’re anxious.” I hoped he didn’t notice the hint of sadness in my voice.

“Part of me is dying to know and another part of me is hoping I never find out. There is a certain comfort and security in not knowing.” I nodded my head unsure of what to say. The closer we got to Carlisle the further away I seemed to get from him.

The rest of the ride happened so quickly and the conversation was more cordial than anything else. We were in Carlisle within an hour and I was pulling up to an apartment building I used to pass on my way to school every day as a young girl. “I can’t thank you enough for this Blanche.” Russ said, unbuckling his seatbelt and preparing to get out of the car.

“It was a pleasure Russ. You were great company,” I grabbed a scrap piece of paper and pen from the console and scribbled the address of my grandmother’s house and my cell phone number. “If you’re ever in town again or need a ride just give me a ring or stop by.”

“Will do,” He flashed me a smile, took the paper and got out of the car. “Bye Blanche.”

I waved, unable to form the words that would be a proper goodbye to such an alluring man. He disappeared into the building and a piece of me went with him. I watched another minute before pulling away and headed to my grandmother’s house.

***

A week had passed and still there was no sign of Russ. I’d driven past the apartment building I dropped him off at multiple times, but I never caught him going in or out of the building. Maybe he had already left Carlisle. I couldn’t help, but feel sad that nothing more came of our encounter. I was certain there was something between us. He consumed my thoughts and I knew I had to let it go, but I didn’t want to without seeing him at least one more time.

I sat on the couch in my grandmother’s living room and turned on the television to get my mind off of Russ and his mesmerizing green eyes. The news was on and I stared at the screen blankly, barely paying attention until a familiar face flashed across this screen. Could it be? I picked up the remote control and turned up the volume.

“Residents of Green Oak Apartments described a man looking like the sketch you see on the screen being the last person seen leaving the apartment where the young mother and her new born baby were found slain. Police are asking if anyone has any information on this man, please call 914-345-9876” the newscaster’s voice become nothing more than muffled sounds as I dropped the remote control in complete disbelief. The sketch was a dead ringer for Russ, but he couldn’t have done this. I refused to believe it. I was dumbfounded and, in a sense, I felt betrayed. He was a good guy. He had to be. I needed him to be.

I snatched up the remote and turned the television off. I looked at the coffee table where my cell phone sat and stared at it. I once looked at it as a beacon of hope that one day Russ would call and put me out of my misery of wondering whether he thought about me at all. Now I wanted nothing more than for him to lose my number and address. I got up from the couch, suddenly paranoid, and began locking windows and doors. How could I be so stupid? Happily ever afters didn’t exist. They were simply stories that weren’t finished yet.

There was a huge weight on my shoulders that felt heavier as time ticked on. Should I call the police? What did I really know about him? What if he didn’t do it? After thirty minutes of going back and forth with myself, I decided to sleep on it.

***

The next morning I had decided against calling the police. I felt slightly responsible for the two lives lost. If I hadn’t given him that ride, maybe he wouldn’t have made it to Carlisle. Maybe that young woman and that innocent little baby would still be alive. I felt like I had blood on my hands, but I was too much of a coward to come clean. I didn’t want to be involved.

I opened the front door and picked up the newspaper waiting on the front porch and quickly shut the door, locking it. On top of the newspaper was taped a folded piece of white paper. I opened it up and the color drained from my face as I read:

Beautiful,

The baby wasn’t mine.

- R. S.

I woke up drenched in sweat, and reached to the other side of the bed hoping to feel Hadley beside me. The space to my left was cold and empty. He had never been here. This wasn’t our bed. I blinked my eyes a few times to adjust to the darkness of the room that didn’t belong to me and quietly scolded myself. “Get a grip, Seph. This is your life now.”

In a desperate need to move, even if it was only among the halls of this house, I threw my legs over the side of the bed, untangling from the comforter in a swift motion, and tiptoed to the dark, quiet corridor. I moved deftly through the halls, as if I had been walking them all my life and as if my feet had a destination my mind did not know of. I walked until I could hear the distinct sounds of arguing behind a closed door. I knew I should have found my way back to my room, but my curiosity got the best of me and my feet remained firmly planted.

“You can’t seriously think of telling Melanie this now, Demetri! She has her finals coming up! This can wait!” I heard June say.

“I have to tell her, though. Can’t you understand that? I – we’ve been waiting twelve years for this and it happened. We found her,” Demetri responded in a calm voice. There was a hint of desperation in his voice, as if speaking in that tone would make his wife see reason. I knew in that moment they were arguing about me, but I had no idea why. Who was Melanie?

“I strictly forbid it.” I could just imagine June crossing her arms across her ample chest and narrowing her eyes at Demetri the way she has been doing for the last week since I came to stay with them. This couldn’t be easy on her, but I’m sure it wasn’t easy on him either. Hell, this was hard for all of us.

“Who are you to decide what’s best for Melanie?” I had the distinct feeling that Demetri’s next question would lead to disaster.

“She is my – ”

“She is not your daughter!” Demetri cut her off in an unexpected yell.

I heard a large intake of breath and I wasn’t sure whether it was June’s or mine, but I backed away from the door and hurried down the stairs before I witnessed the dissolution of their marriage.

“This is not your fault. This is not your fault. This is not your fault,” I whispered to myself as my feet carried me to the kitchen in a hurried pace. I felt around the wall for the light switch, struggling to do away with the darkness with much needed light.

I slid down the wall as the light surrounded me, saddened that the light did not pierce through the dark spaces in my mind where my memories should have been held. I had a daughter? The thought made me buckle over in agony. That couldn’t be right. My vision blurred and I took in a sharp breath, willing myself not to crumble. Not here. Not in plain sight.

I could hear two pairs of footsteps in the stairwell. One sounded to be running after the other. The front door opened and slammed shut with such force that the walls of the house shook. I attempted to will myself to get up and make a run for it, but my limbs felt heavy like cinder blocks, so I sat there breathing deeply and attempting to dispel the pain.

“Cora?” a soft, wavering voice called to me.

“Please don’t call me that,” I said, my voice just above a whisper and fresh with the burden of unshed tears.

“Oh, right.” June clumsily knelt before me and I could see the evidence of her previous argument with Demetri in the tear trails stained on her cheeks. “You heard us, huh?”

I ignored her question and asked her one of my own. “I have a daughter?”

June pursed her lips and ran her fingers through her springy brown hair, which looked a lot like mine. In fact, a lot of June’s features mirrored my own, but there was no relation between us. She had almond shaped hazel eyes, sepia colored skin, and plump lips that I’ve only seen smile in pictures – never in my presence. It was like looking in a mirror, but maybe that’s why Demetri married her. She looked like me. I quickly rid myself of that thought. He loves his wife.

After what felt like forever, June released a sigh and with a dismissing sweep of her hand, which contradicted the pain in her eyes, she answered with a simple, “Yes.”

The tears I’d been holding spilled as if a levee had broken and I could feel her tense next to me as I let out a strangled, “How?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot how babies are made too?” She joked awkwardly and looked as if she instantly regretted her words. I flinched and she put a small hand on my shoulder as if in apology.

“No,” I answered quietly although I knew her question didn’t need a response, “I just don’t remember this life you’re telling me I lived. How could a mother forget her own child?”

Silence hung in the room, only punctuated by my occasional sniffle or June’s overwhelmed sigh. “I’ll make us some tea.” June said after a while, uncharacteristically reaching a hand out to me and pulling me to my feet. She led me to the island in the middle of the kitchen, made sure I was sitting properly on one of the stools, and then busied herself with the chore of making tea.

Her back was to me and I watched her move as if this was a common occurrence. As if the first and second wife of a man normally live together and have tea in the late hours of the night. As if that first wife, presumably dead after being missing for twelve years and miraculously found with retrograde amnesia and no other family, was a welcome guest in the second wife’s house, in her kitchen, sipping her tea. I felt like I owed her something. Some consolation for this unfortunate predicament she found herself in and I suppose that’s why the next words came out of my mouth. “I don’t remember loving him, you know?”

June halted briefly with a tea kettle under the running faucet; she was stiff as a board besides the almost imperceptible shaking of her hand. As if nothing was said, she finished filling the kettle, turned off the faucet, and placed the kettle on one of the gas burners of the stainless-steel stove. She grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet directly above her head, the only evidence of her uneasiness in the clinking of the mugs together in a steady pattern, and sat across from me. She looked me in my eyes, hazel matching hazel, and gave me a rare, watery smile. “He remembers loving you though.”

I winced. I wasn’t expecting that response. I expected a brief nod, or even a punch in the face, but not this. It sounded like defeat. It sounded as if June was accepting the fact that her husband loved another woman as much, if not more, than he loved her. I could not accept that. Her acceptance meant that eventually I would have to accept this too. “June, no. He can’t. I need to get back to Hadley. I know he’s looking for me. He’s got to be.”

June’s face became a mask mixed with pity and anger. “Hadley is dead Cor – um, Sephina. Your captor is dead.”

Her words cut deep and I could no longer look into her eyes. I stared above her head at the thick green border that outlined the cream-colored walls of the kitchen. I would have much rather preferred the punch in the face to this. Hadley was the only anchor I had to a sense of belonging in this world and she was trying to rip him away from me. She must have wanted me to hurt as much as she hurt. I was taking her husband away from her, so she was going to take Hadley away from me.

I shuddered, clapping a hand over my mouth, trying to contain the sob that threatened to escape beyond my lips. I braved a look back at June and her eyes were like fiery orbs of determination. She was going to break me. Her eyes searched mine for something, but I had no idea what. “You really don’t remember?”

Her question hung in the air like smog threatening to suffocate me. Remember. It was a word Demetri would say to me every day, thrusting old photos of our life together in my face as if the darkness in my mind would somehow be wiped away by his persistence. What did it even mean to remember? If I remembered him, our marriage, our life, what would that change? Would the last twelve years of loving Hadley just disappear and be filled with love for Demetri? What about June? How would she fit into all of this?

I could hear June tapping her perfectly manicured fingers on the green tile of the island and could feel her eyes sizing me up. I was sure they were narrowed the way she narrows them at Demetri. I chanced another look at her and could see the mosaic of shame, pity, neglect, anger, and frustration clinging to her normally smooth features. I had caused that.

“I deserved that,” I mumbled, closing my eyes and letting out a breath.

I needed a break and as if God still looked out for me, the tea kettle began to whistle. June hopped off her stool and moved the kettle off the burner. As if the awkward conversation between us had not just occurred, June turned to me, kettle still in hand.

“How do you like your tea?”

I never did answer her. I simply stumbled off my stool, backed away from June, and hurried back to the safety of the darkness in my borrowed bedroom. I could still faintly hear the clinging of the mugs as I burrowed into the comforter, pulling a pillow close to my chest, and sobbing until the pillow was soaked with my grief. Eventually, there were no more tears left to shed, and I hiccoughed, dry sobbing until my eyes were puffy red, my throat was dry, and my eyes so heavy that sleep claimed me.

Demetri did not return until the next morning and he was not alone. “Cora,” he shook me softly, his voice having the distinct timbre that let me know he was smiling before I even opened my eyes. “It’s time to wake up. Someone special is here to see you.”

I winced, but I did not correct him when he called me by that name. It was the name that he knew me by. It was the name of the woman he married twenty-five years ago, at the age of eighteen and fresh out of high school. Who was I to correct him? He was a stranger to me, yet he felt as if he knew me. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that woman died twelve years ago.

I opened my eyes and peered beyond Demetri to the open door. Leaning in the doorway with disapproving eyes was June. “I already know June,” I huffed, pulling the comforter over my head.

“No, not her,” Demetri admonished. I could hear the patience leaving his voice. “Your visitor is in the kitchen.” He pulled the covers from over my head and smiled down at me reassuringly. I heard June let out a frustrated puff of air and walk away. I wanted to call out to her, but my voice got caught somewhere in my throat, so I was left staring up into the chestnut colored orbs of Demetri.

“Must I?” I had a feeling who this visitor might be and my mind raced with how this encounter might go.

Demetri simply nodded. It was far too much way too soon, but the earnest look in his eyes made me want to please him. It was the same way Hadley would look at me when he was trying to convince me to go along with one of his crazy get-rich-quick schemes. One look like that – like I was the only woman in the world that could make his sun rise – and I was putty in his hands. It was strange to realize that Demetri could do this too.

Much to my chagrin, I found myself getting out of bed and looking for something to throw on. Demetri nodded at me once more encouragingly before telling me to hurry downstairs once I finished dressing.

I opened the closet and looked at all the clothes there. None of them were mine, but somehow Demetri convinced June to allow me to borrow a few pieces of clothing until I had some of my own. He must have given her the look he just gave me. At that thought, I wanted to hate him. How dare he do this me? Do this to us? I angrily pulled a gray, cable-knit sweater over my head and stuffed myself into a pair of jeans. I opted for going barefoot.

I marched out of the room, preparing to give Demetri a piece of my mind for putting June and me through this. I padded down the stairs and turned the corner to the kitchen ready to tell him so when I heard a strangled cry. “Mom?!”

Freezing in place as a body collided with mine and wrapped arms around me, I stared into a mane of frizzy brown curls. My arms remained by my side and my heart thumped wildly in my chest. The young woman nuzzled into the crook of my neck as I awkwardly stood wide eyed and afraid. I could see Demetri smiling and June frowning. My eyes caught June’s and I silently pleaded with her for help.

“How about you let her have a seat for breakfast, Mel?” June surprisingly obliged my silent plea, placing a loving hand on the young woman’s back, who was just confirmed to be my daughter Melanie.

I heard Demetri suck his teeth at June’s interruption of the reunion, but I flashed her a grateful smile as I forced myself to move beyond the threshold of the kitchen. I was far from hungry, but I sat at the glass table situated on the right side of the kitchen with Melanie eager to sit next to me. I eyed her warily, not sure what she knew. She could have just as well been June’s daughter as she was mine. The only feature she did not share were the hazel eyes; she had chestnut colored eyes like her father.

“Um, hello,” I said nervously. What was a woman to say to a daughter she didn’t remember?

Melanie frowned and she turned to her father, questions on her face threatening to spill out, but she had enough grace not to ask them out loud. I stared ahead at June, who sat directly across from me. I could see the pain on her face as she watched realization dawn on the face of the daughter she raised as her own.

“You don’t remember me,” Melanie whispered. Her voice had the watery quality that could sink my heart. I ached for her. I wanted to reach out and touch her, comfort her, let her know things would be okay, but it didn’t seem appropriate for me to do so. Did I even know that? Would things ever be okay?

I turned my head slightly and frowned at Demetri. His everlasting grin slowly faded and his brows furrowed. How dare he do this? June snaked her hand across the table and soothingly rubbed Melanie’s hand that rested on the table. A mix of emotions plagued the young woman’s face, similar to the ones that her stepmother and I had felt over the past week. Somehow witnessing the pain on this young woman’s face made the hurt, confusion, and frustration much worse. I hung my head, willing myself not to cry.

“How about you and Mel go in the living room for some alone time, Cora?” Demetri suggested.

My head snapped up and I glared at him. “Don’t call me that.”

I had never corrected him before and the surprise was evident in his eyes. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

The question was simple, but it made me pause. Is that really my name? For the last twelve years, or for as long as I could remember, I was Sephina. That is what Hadley told me my name was when I awoke from the yearlong coma I was in. He was there for me when there was no Demetri, June, or Melanie. Yet, here they were now in my face.

Demetri had the photos to prove his version of my life’s history; Hadley was never able to produce such evidence. However, I loved and trusted Hadley with everything I had and now he was gone.

I shut my eyes tight and tried to stifle the sob that was threatening to pierce the tense atmosphere. Hadley was gone.

“Demetri, maybe this is too much too soon,” June offered, still rubbing Melanie’s hand.

“Damnit June! This has nothing to do with you! This is not your family!” As soon as he said it, I could tell he wished he could gobble those words up.

He looked at his wife, her beautiful features crumbling by the weight of the many feelings she’d been harboring since my arrival. She abruptly stood up and walked evenly out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I heard a door slam and felt my heart ache for June.

This was my fault.

Demetri ran after her, calling her name in a voice dripping with remorse. He loves his wife.

Melanie and I sat next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, in a weird, yet comfortable silence. I’d sneak glances at her and I knew she was doing the same to me. Her parents’ relationship was in shambles because of me and I must have been radiating guilt.

“This is not your fault you know.” Melanie turned to me, with eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed unnatural for such a young woman. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“How could you possibly know that I –”

“Because I would blame myself.” She answered me before I could even finish my question. “I used to blame myself for you disappearing.”

My breath hitched and I clinched my hands into fists. “I should go,” I said abruptly, staring at the glass tabletop. “I can’t be who you need me to be.” I stood up to leave, hesitating only slightly as Melanie’s chest heaved up and down as silent tears slid down her cheek.

I was almost across the threshold when I heard her call, “Then let me be who you need me to be.”

I stopped, frozen in place much like I was when I first heard her call me mom. “What?”

“Let me be who you need me to be,” she repeated, rising from her lonely spot at the abandoned table. “You may not be able to be the mom I haven’t seen since I was eight years old, but I love you the same way now that I did then. You obviously have a lot of pain to relieve and demons to fight. Let me help you.”

I stared at the young woman in front of me, so young yet so wise. Everything around me was burning to hell, but she was standing amidst the flames like a beacon of hope. I was afraid to get close to her though. What if she was ripped away from me like Hadley? “I can’t.”

She looked crestfallen and the guilt burned my chest. Despite my better judgment, I took her in my arms and allowed her to cry against my neck. I could hold her for this moment, but I was not who she needed and I knew this connection would not last forever.

Forever. What a haunting concept? I used to think I had forever to spend with Hadley and I suppose at one point I felt the same for Demetri. In a sense, they are imprinted on me, within the fabric of my essence. No one ever thinks of the downside to all of this. No one ever thinks of the bitter, lonely nights when forever lasts longer than we anticipated. What we really mean when we say forever is until we pass on, but what happens when a part of us passes on and someone else remains? I guess it looks a lot like this. It looks like me holding on to a daughter I cannot remember in the home of my husband and his wife, wondering if forever would ever look good again.

I knew it was her the moment she walked through the door. The briskness of her steps, eyes hidden behind the safety of sunglasses, and a stature common of celebrities shielding themselves from the paparazzi announced her identity as she bustled into the small office. Her mouth formed a scowl that somehow managed to have the quality of a faint smile that only she and the most astute observer could be aware of.

I had waited for her for hours, just to catch a glimpse to know she was real and she rushed past me to the safety of her office giving a quick glance in my direction. Even behind the tint of the sunglass lenses, I could tell her eyes registered a hint of recognition as they laid upon my face and that is more than what I could have expected, but I took the mistake she made in making the recognition known as an acknowledgment and invitation to follow her into her office and was greeted by the closing of a worn, wooden door in my face.

As if an unspoken conversation happened between them in the brief moments of her arrival, her secretary spoke in an even tone, “I’m sorry, but Miss Vanderbilt is booked for today and cannot fit any impromptu meetings in her schedule.”

“Impromptu?” I was rubbing my nose, more of an effort to hide my embarrassment than to alleviate the throbbing pain caused by the impact my face made against the door. “I scheduled this meeting months ago.”

The secretary stared at me absently while flipping open the appointment book, pen in hand, “I’m sorry Miss —,” she paused with a tone in her voice indicating that it did not matter who I was or when my appointment was scheduled; I would not be seeing Virginia Vanderbilt today.

“Bordeaux. Alicia Bordeaux.”

The secretary placed a line through my name with a finality that told me no meeting would be occurring. Not for me and not for anyone else. My name was the only name on the schedule for today. “Would you like to reschedule, Miss Bordeaux?”

“When would I be able to get another appointment?”

The secretary flipped through several pages of the book, all of them empty, and looked up at me with a smile, “Six weeks from tomorrow.”

“That’ll be too late.”

The secretary nodded, closing the appointment book, a look of satisfaction on her face for her performance which contradicted the pity in her light brown eyes. I grabbed my belongings, a leather-bound journal wearing away at the spine and a manila envelope that I carelessly left on the chair beside the one I vacated in a haste to follow Virginia, and headed toward the door.

“She eats at Sam’s every Thursday night,” the secretary called out to me as if saying a standard salutation. I turned to look at her and her eyes told me everything she could not openly admit. That one sentence was an apology to me, repentance for whatever sins she felt she committed in an effort to do her job, and a warning not to return to this office. I nodded in acknowledgment knowing that the secretary’s set of eyes weren’t the only ones watching me leave. Virginia Vanderbilt was peeking through the blinds of the glass window on her office door.

Sam’s was a dusty old bar and it was surprising to me that someone like Virginia would even consider stepping foot in here, but there she was at the bar, a cigarette dangling from her lips and a cloud of smoke billowing around her. Tucking under my arm where the journal and the envelope from earlier, I strode across the floor of the bar and sat next to her.

From the way she slightly scooted away, I knew she registered my presence, but a woman like Virginia would not just acknowledge me. It was not in her nature to be accepting. I placed the journal and envelope on the bar top and flagged the bartender over.

“What’ll it be ma’am?”

I had never drank before, but not wanting to look foolish I ordered what I’d heard many badass women order in films. “A whiskey.”

Virginia snorted as she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Can you even handle whiskey, kid?”

The bartender joined in her laughter as he placed my drink in front of me, an amber liquid that smelled like death. I did not want to drink it, but Virginia and the nameless bartender were staring at me expectantly so I picked up the glass, ice cubes tinkling as I brought it to my lips and chugged. A burning sensation coated my throat and I thought I’d throw it all back up, but I didn’t.

I placed the glass back on the bar gingerly and wiped the corners of my mouth with a small smile. Virginia snorted again and shook her head while the bartender walked away to serve other customers. “Rookie.”

“Excuse me?” In my moment of triumph, I didn’t think Virginia would say anything else to me, but here she was, engaging in conversation on her own accord and likely at my expense, but I needed this.

“I know you’re the young woman from my office earlier today.”

She didn’t offer anything else, but it seemed like an opening to me and I’d be a fool not take it and plead my case. “Ms. Vanderbilt, I think you can help me.”

“Everyone does. Get in line.”

She had yet to look at me, and part of me believed it was because she was afraid of what she would see. It had not escaped me that something about me was familiar to her. She was curious, but not enough to be open with me.

“You don’t understand. I was given this on my eighteenth birthday three years ago. I think it belonged to you.” I slid the journal across the bar, careful not to upset the fraying edges.

She stared at the leather bound journal in front of her with a bowed head but did not touch it. Her eyes just kept moving around the surface of the cover and her breath quickened just a bit. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke again. “Who gave this to you?”

“It was sent to me from the orphanage I grew up in before I was adopted. Apparently, it was left for me by my mother, but I cannot read it. The only thing I could see were the initials V. V. etched into the inside cover and a small crest.”

“So what makes you think this is mine?” Virginia was fingering a necklace hung on her neck, winding it tightly around her finger. The one small round pendant held the same crest as the inside cover of the journal.

“I didn’t at first. Then, while I was reading a magazine, I saw your picture and that necklace,” I pointed toward the necklace currently wrapped around her finger, which had turned red from how tightly it was wound. “It has the same crest as the book.”

“So it does.” She looked down at her necklace, then reached down and fingered the cover of the book. A smile played across her lips slightly before it disappeared and was placed with an expression of indifference. “Why come to me instead of your mother? Who was she anyway?”

It was as if a dark cloud cast its shadow over me once the question left her lips. I was certain Virginia could answer that question on her own just by viewing the book so I wouldn’t have to divulge what I know. Or, at least what I found out and think I know. “I think she’s dead.”

Virginia’s shoulders sagged at the news and cleared her throat a few times. For the first time since this conversation began, she looked at me and I was taken about by the misty violet orbs boring into mine. Had her eyes always been that color?

Without warning, Virginia scooped up the book, hopped off her stool, and grabbed my arm. “Come with me.”

“What? Where? Ms. Vanderbilt?”

She turned impatiently to me as I struggled against her. “If what you say is true, we cannot talk here. It’s not safe.” As if to prove her point, she cast a wary glance around her as if suddenly everyone in the bar meant them harm. “Come with me.”

Against my better judgment, I slipped off my stool, careful to grab the manilla envelope laying on the bar, and followed closely behind her as she exited the bar in haste.

Struggling to keep up with her deft movements, I sidled behind her as she seemingly glided from corner to corner, peering around buildings and looking over her shoulder. “You knew my mother?”

“You didn’t?” She finally reached her office building, placing her hand on the door until she heard a click and shoved me inside before turning around and shooting what looked to be light out of her hands around its frame. What the hell did I get myself into?

“No. I was adopted by the Bordeaux family when I was very small. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t even know her name. And, what are you doing?”

“Protecting the door. There’s no telling how many spirits have been following you since you came into possession of the Vanderbilt Grimoire.”

“The what?”

“The Vanderbilt Grimoire. Book of spells, incantations. Surely you’ve heard of grimoire before?”

“Well, yeah,” I slumped into a chair of the waiting room I waited in earlier. “In fairytales and fantasy stories. They don’t actually exist though.”

Virginia began pacing, continuously fingering the necklace hanging from her neck. She seemed to be having an internal war with herself and I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt. I watched her as random spurts of light escaped her fingertips and singed the carpet. As if settling whatever battle she was having, she turned to me, and instinctively I shrunk back under her gaze. “Your mother’s name was Vivienne Vanderbilt, my younger sister. She disappeared twenty-two years ago, and we thought she was lost somewhere in the shadow realms. Your appearance here suggests otherwise.”

“You think my mother may be alive?”

“Oh absolutely not,” she took one look at my face and backpedaled a bit. “What I mean to say is that there is no way my sister would have let that book out of her sight unless she didn’t plan on surviving. I don’t know what happened to her, but I’m sure the answers are somewhere within this book.”

“But I can’t read the book. All the pages are blank.”

Virginia gave me a smile of pity before slipping off her necklace and handing it to me. “Put it on.”

I slipped the necklace on as she shoved the grimoire in my lap. What was once a blank fraying cover was now shiny and brand new. Gold lettering began looping itself on the cover until it read, “Vanderbilt Grimoire - 1926”. I gasped as I began leafing through the pages, which were now filled with neat black letters on crisp white pages instead of yellowing blank pages. “How?”

Virginia sat next to me, taking back her necklace and the grimoire. It once again looked like an old journal that was falling apart. “Only a wearer of this necklace can read the grimoire, which is why we have to go back to your orphanage.”

“What? This makes no sense.”

She sighed as if stopping to explain everything to me was beneath her. “Vivienne would have never just left you the grimoire without also giving you a necklace. Something is amiss and I say the orphanage is a better place than any to start.”

“But my mother? You? What are you? A witch?” I laughed at the ludicrous notion of Virginia and my mother being witches. Surely there was a logical explanation for the things I was experiencing.

Virginia, however, just stared at me, violet eyes flashing as a smile spread across her lips. “Precisely.”